


Living with the truth.

by Moviemuncher



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Language, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Tactile Bob, little sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moviemuncher/pseuds/Moviemuncher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob didn't go to prison, and for that One Two is fucking grateful. Honest, he is. He didn't want to see Bob go down for a five stretch. But... Bob isn't who he thought he was. And it is fucking with his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living with the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not like the language used within. Do not agree with homophobia, never will (nor racism, transphobia, disablism, sexism -since I'm a feminist- etc.)  
> Please review. I'd like to see some activity. I'd also love a fic about these two that is angsty but also sweet and a little longer than my own.

One Two is quite pleased when the whole Sidney Shaw shit show was over. It was a fucking broadside from the word go. Talking of broadsides, he and Bob weren't quite back on speaking terms anymore. It just seemed to devolve from their 'we're not discussing this' approach. Mumbles seemed willing to let this slide, for a week. Next thing you know, he's got One Two in that dirty old glorified cupboard and asking questions.

One Two can't answer half of them. He honestly doesn't know the answers. Mumbles tells him, orders him, to talk to Bob or else he'd get them all sat down. 

Oddly, that doesn't kick his arse into gear. Cookie is the one to do it, with Fred's help.   
Cookie has him sat down, playing cards to lull him into a false sense of security. Fred is good naturedly allowing Cookie to cheat despite of being obvious as fuck. Then again, if One Two calls him out on it every time, does Fred need to? Either way, Cookie broaches the subject rather neutrally. 

"You and Bob are anything but quiet. Unless we stick you together, and it is us sticking you together. Like a pair of fucking magnets youse two are." 

Neutral like he said. 

One Two doesn't reply, just stares dejectedly at his cards. He has a good hand, three aces, only beaten by three threes. Good hand, it would normally put a smile on his face. 

Cookie waits, his heavily hooded eyes are watchful. Junkies, even ex-junkies, all have this look. Skinny, deep-set eyes and a sharp alertness in the blurry depths. Cookie looks that way, all his nervous energy honed into staring One Two down. 

"Our Bob, and he is our Bob, fag or not, doesn't deserve this shit." Cookie says. "We're all getting on with it. So what he's a pillow-biter?" 

Fred nods emphatically at Cookie's quiet but firm words. 

One Two's eye twitches in aborted anger. Instinctively riling up before remembering that the last time he let his instantaneous reaction take over, he dived out of the car and scared his best mate into almost hyperventilating and definitely crying. Wet eye rims, and shaky breaths. He stopped himself with a noise deep breath. 

"Nowt wrong with it Cookie. But he doesn't fancy you, does he? Didn't make a pass at you?"

"So what?" Fred said, his voice very firm and uncompromising. "He made a pass. A woman pulled that shit and you didn't like her, you say no, and you move on. You'd be flattered mate." 

One Two is caught by the analogy. Then he curses himself out, and them two because fuck 'em.   
He stands, chucks down the best hand he's had all year, and it's well past the middle of summer now, and leaves the Speeler. Off to Bob's then. 

*

Now, when he gets there, Bob opens the door in just his jeans, like he used to. Nothing changed since the last time except something One Two now knows about Bob. Two things actually.   
"One Two?" Bob greets unsurely, his 'what the fuck?' politely hidden. He doesn't look nervous, just confused, but his fist is clenched on the radiator behind him, the other hand no doubt squeezing the handle too. One Two tries to offer a smile but it's weak and he knows it.

"Bob" he replies. His voice is thicker than he wants it to be, too uncomfortable and embarrassed. Not at Bob, not because of Bob, but because of his own shitty behaviour. Bob stands back so One Two can come in and fit past him. Bob shuts the door and only the drawn back curtains and a solitary lamp prevent the room being too dim. One Two sits on the couch, familiar with the place. Still, he doesn't relax fully like normal, he's been a dick, he can't say how welcoming Bob is.  
Bob sits on the other side, one leg drawn up. It covers most of his lean torso from One Two and it makes him look small despite all the muscles. It clicks, there is half a foot between them, so One Two feels ridiculous that he'd felt intimidated back in that car, not when Bob was clearly truly scared. He has a big fucking apology to make. 

"Bob. I'm so fucking sorry mate. I don't know what's gotten into me, you know you're still my best mate." It was all he had, it was the truth. 

Bob sort of shifted where he sat, shuffling around to face One Two with his back against the armrest. 

"It's alright One Two. I know it's a lot and-"

"No Bob. There's no fucking excuse alrigh'? I was a dick. It's just you, and whether you fuck boys or girls does'nae matter. What matters is that you're mah pal and-" his accent gets thicker when he gets riled "- I fuckin' think the world of you an' Mumbles the daft bastard." 

Bob is suddenly on his side, pressed to him and he kisses him softly. A peck on the corner of t mouth and One Two instinctively reacts to another man in his personal space whilst he's agitated. He shoves Bob, and follows through by pinning him. Except, that's the opposite of the message he wants to send. He doesn't want to hurt Bob, not even accidentally. He hovers above Bob as Bob pants in surprise. Bob doesn't look scared but he looks nervous. 

"Too much?" He asks cheekily, but the wary es ruin it. "No worse than getting your arse out in the pub."

That might be right, but that was a joke, this was being hit on. Right? 

"Sorry." One Two says and leans back but doesn't get off Bob's legs. Bob sits up too, pushing into One Two's space. It's not a secret that Bob's a tactile man, likes a cuddle, even before he told One Two, they'd always touched. Shoulder slaps, elbow brushes, standing closely and casual hugging. But this, like the dance, feels different. Bib is right against net his chest, his head brushing under his chin. The short, fuzzy hair tickled along his scruff. Bob's arms lace around his waist and stay firmly on his mid-back. No cheeky wandering this time. So One Two snakes an arm around Bob's shoulders and holds him briefly. He moves his head so his lips are pressed into Bob's hair, against his skull but doesn't kiss. 

Bob looks up and wiggles until he can gain enough leverage to reach further up. His hair bushes One Two's nose and then his head is tilted back, and One Two leans forwards. They kiss gently 

"I'm not gay Bob." One Two says against his friend's lips. Bob sighs and answers after another kiss. 

"I know. But not everyone I sleep with is either."

Oh. Alright then. 

One Two is happy to kiss Bob, at first because he's apologetic an guilty. And then because he loves his mate, maybe not in the way Bob wants, but enough. Maybe it would always be enough.


End file.
